The name's Bond,Basildon Bond..

I've been so flaming angry this week that I'm left with no other alternative means to 'vent my spleen' than to resurrect m'blog.

Wednesday was  one of those late summer days of gorgeous sunshine the type that unexpectedly lifts everyone's mood.We'd had a reasonably busy lunch for a midweek day this time of year and I just happened to glance out of the window to notice an elderly lady- arms under the shoulders of her slightly more infirm husband, attempting to heave him up from the rickety garden chair into a standing position..
To a seasoned pro like meself this looked like an absolute recipe for total disaster especially given the rather nice chilled bottle of Marlborough Sauvignon of which Sir had Im sure consumed the lions share during the leisurely lunch.
I dashed out to offer assistance by which time our subject had achieved an erect (no pun intended- further information later) position.
'Can I help at all?"
'Can you bring me the card doo-dah please? I'd like to settle my bill out here if I may?'
I thought I'd chance the card machine outside, sometimes the range isn't good enough for the far reaches of the garden but I was hoping they were near enough to the door to avoid any further unnecessary movement.
Our friend had managed to extract the card from his wallet by the time I'd returned and it was sitting ready atop the already proffered bill.
I picked it up and as I inserted  (we can all see where this is going) in the machine said:
'I'll just put this in here for you'
 I was NOT prepared for our elderly gentleman's response..:

'THAT'S WHAT ALL THE GIRLS SAY'

His poor wife was MORTIFIED and glanced over at me worriedly to gauge my reaction before chastising him in a vey vey Margot Leadbetter voice:

'Gerry you can't say that!'

He grinned wickedly and winked at me as he replied:

'Yes I can - Im 84 -I can get away with it'

Reader, at this point I could not hold back I burst out laughing and could not stop.. the sound carried across the fields and valley and villages and reverberated throughout the nearby hinterland.

His wife raised her eyebrows knowingly and apologised, 'no need' I say 'its ok'.
'Yes but everything is so very PC these days- the humour has gone'

As I walked away I was feeling a bit guilty that I'd laughed and that I wasn't offended.
Did that make me non PC too?

As usual I sought validation from the kitchen,
I related the tale and they all found the whole thing bloody hilarious (females too I hasten to add).
As chef said: THE DORTY OLD DUFFER..

Later that afternoon there was another blast from the past as I flicked through the morning's unopened mail and among the usual easy to spot suppliers bills and junk mail something stood out.
Being a lifelong stationary addict I spotted the pale blue tinge of the Basildon Bond envelope immediately.
My heart sank.
A handwritten letter only usually signifies one thing-a complainer who isn't yet au fait with current technology and hasn't worked out how to access the internet and discover the seething cesspit of detritus commonly known as TripAdvisor.
My spirits raised slightly- at least it's a private complaint-no airing of any dirty laundry in public for once.
On opening the envelope I was surprised and delighted to find that it was a JOB APPLICATION.
We'd been advertising for staff and I'd asked for a short cover letter just so I could sort the wheat from the chaff before setting up interviews.
I'd been going through CVs many of which don't even give an address and one which had responded to my request for a short cover letter with (I kid you not) a 5000 word memoir which I'd lost interest  in after around 500 words..it was like Groundhog Day.
So needless to say the handwritten letter was a refreshing and welcome change.
The applicant had taken early retirement and was looking for something part time to keep him busy.
I showed the letter to Chef.We both thought he sounded promising.Maybe someone with old fashioned values, a good work ethic-someone that might stick around for a while not just until the travelling around Asia fund had hit target..
I organised an interview.
Anyway I was full of expectation after he left the interview, he was personable and seemed pretty darned normal.

Past experience has taught me to always arrange a trial shift before offering work,I can't tell you how many times I've offered someone work, put them on the rota only for them not to turn up on the day.
So the trial shift was arranged.

An hour after he left the interview he returned with another delightful Basildon Bond envelope.
My heart sang.

Eat your heart out Julie

I beamed in anticipation of what must surely be a lovely thankyou card!
He left with a cheery wave and a 'See you soon'
No.Such Bloody.Luck.
It was a list of dates he couldn't work between now and mid November.
'Only six weekends, excluding two weeks in October when I can't work at all'
Eight weekends in a period of not many more weekends..
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? IVE ALREADY OFFERED HIM A TRIAL?

Deflated mode

A colleague who is far more measured and less emotional than myself suggested I ring him and say: Unfortunately due to the amount of dates for which you already have prior commitments we can't offer any work, however you are more than welcome to come along for the trial shift, get a feel for the place and maybe get back in touch in the New Year when you have less going on'
So that's what I did, fully expecting him to just say oh well I'll just leave it for now.
But no.
He intended coming for the trial anyway.
SO last night just before six he arrived.We already had a few tables in I wouldn't say it was busy but ticking over quite nicely for a midweek night with several tables in and a good crowd of locals in the bar.
I was taking an order when I saw him come in so I raised my eyebrows and nodded at him to acknowledge I'd seen him then continued with taking the order.
By the time I'd checked the order on and returned he was standing in front of the bar with a HALF PINT OF ALE IN HIS HAND.
And reader, he was supping it!!!
WTF?
I headed over and avoiding being overly forthright with my outright disgust of his modus operandi on the occasion of a trial shift when any god damn fool knows OBVIOUSLY drinking alcohol would not be in keeping with the REQUIRED STANDARD, I copped out and pretended I hadn't seen the offending bev and went ahead and introduced him to the bartender for the evening, who thankfully was the aforementioned measured and calm individual, who I assured him would 'show him the ropes'.
I went back to the floor.
The redhead steamed over:
'BIFF WHO IS THAT MAN BEHIND THE BAR?'
'He's here for a trial- I hope you're not being agist Redhead...'
She briefly flushed a similar hue to her own hair then replied:
'no no not at all its just I asked him if he was here for the trial and he said no MORE OF AN INTRODUCTION I'll BE STARTING IN THE NEW YEAR'
Will he indeed.
After a further five minutes passed I glanced up again and was stunned to notice our prospective employee once again at the front of the bar craicing on with the locals, looking like he was a piece of the furniture if you will and THIS TIME with a FULL PINT OF ALE in his hand.
WTAF?
He thinks he's some sort of romantic embodiment of a Mine Host from the 1950s who props up the end of the bar and pulls the occasional pint..or worse still one of those well known within the industry sorts who think they'll run a country pub when they retire!!!
I steamed over.
'Is everything alright here?'(as we all know this is industry speak for the multi purpose phrase 'what the fuck  do you think you are doing?)
'Yes' he replied 'I've just had a five minute Idiots Guide to the bar and I think I've got everything now, your bartender is a great teacher''
I'd say a more a fucking miracle worker if she's managed to teach him everything he needs to know in five minutes...
'Really?' (in as diplomatic a voice as I could muster given the circumstances) 'theres a lot more to this than meets the eye  you know'
He smiled a self satisfied smile, shrugged his shoulders and with a slight swagger replied:

'YOU PULL THE HANDLE FORWARD AND THE BEER COMES OUT'

I was fizzing.Our very calm and non emotional bartender who in her own words 'was rendered speechless' later informed me that he had INVITED HER TO JOIN HIM IN A DRINK !!

*SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTS*


PS Spotted on twitter this morning...

Good luck with that🤯

Shit Happens : Vol 2

If there's one event guaranteed to bring me back here it's  the dreaded Bank Holiday weekend.
I'd spent the days prior potting up an array of colourful bedding plants so the garden looked tip top ready for the holiday and was feeling pretty darn proud of my efforts,in fact I'd go so far as to say that I had in fact created The Chelsea Flower Show of the North but without the crowds..a comment surely destined to come back and bite me on the backside before the weekend was out.
Anyway, the sun was shining,I was chipper and I thought I'd get Chef outside to appreciate my efforts.
'Have you got a minute?'
Giving feedback on the status of my horticultural efforts is not exactly high on the list of Chef based priorities on the morning of a Bank Holiday but no matter I pressed on..
'Can you to come and have a quick look at my garden?'
I hadn't noticed nearby and within earshot, a  recent employee who has turned out to be, shall we say,a bit of a loose cannon..
There was a loud guffaw followed by
'I HOPE THAT WASN'T A EUPHEMISM'
[More raucous laughter]
I briefly considered deploying a pious face,due to the fact that this particular lad has barely worked for us for a month but in the event I don't possess one and furthermore found the whole thing bloody hilarious.So despite the fact that I'm becoming increasingly convinced that I'm living on the set of Fawlty Towers,the day couldn't have started off in better humour.
*Insert LOUD WARNING KLAXON here*
A cursory glance at the laptop to check the bookings,just to see if we'd been inundated with last minute revellers overnight revealed a bit of an anomaly.As I peered in close to the screen, I happened to notice two bookings under the same name with the little speech bubble icon indicating there was some sort of special requirement.
Diners without special requirements are becoming an absolute rarity these days,from eating likes,dislikes,tables with good light,tables with a view,comfortable seats,chairs with high backs,quiet tables( it's a public house-rather self explanatory I would have thought?) to last week a first:
'I dont like the finish on the table can you put a tablecloth on it?'
In short-you name it we've had it.
So imagine my surprise to click on the little speech bubble to see the following rather peremptory comment:
'I've booked two separate tables of four at different times as I couldn't get availability,so seated at one table(8 guests) please at our chosen time 1pm.'
FML
You may be surprised to learn that booking a table for a time you don't want then turning up at the time you DO want is a not unheard of activity,however, two separate tables at different times is what Chef would refer to as Fuckwittery on an Industrial Scale.
SIGH.
I spent the next half hour frantically trying to rearrange the table plan to accommodate this command which put me behind schedule, so consequently I was in a bit of a flap by the time I got around to mopping the floor in the gents (always with copious amounts of bleach-just to make sure there's no unpleasant whiff hanging around).
Being ever so slightly distracted, I didn't immediately notice that the cubicle door was closed.
A closed toilet door is an ominous sign, similar in nature,but one step down from a closed toilet seat.A closed toilet seat always incurs an audible groan,it’s a grim warning that there’s something not very nice purposefully hidden from view.
In fact a closed toilet seat is the Hellmouth of the catering world.
People will sniff out a shitter from miles away if they’re desperate,so the fact that we weren’t yet open was definitely no guarantee there was no one in there.Over the years I’ve walked in on various delivery persons,the postman(regularly) and one year several persons en route to Appleby for the annual horsefair, using our facilities as a complimentary campsite wash room.
‘Is there someone in there?’I called out,pausing briefly, head cocked to one side awaiting a response.. Reader,I nearly shit myself when the sorry sounding voice called back:
‘Yes it’s me’
I had no idea who *me* was.Shock can result in the blatantly stupidest of questions,but then you’d be surprised what people get up to in the bog out of the usual sphere of activities..(which reminds me there was a pair of NEXT undercrackers found on top of the gents HIGH level cistern last week-any ideas???)
‘What are you doing?’
Further another pause...then
'I’m not well’
JESUS CHRIST WE ALL KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THAT MEANS..I bashed on..
‘What’s wrong with you?’
(SOB)
‘I’ve got a poorly stomach’
 I ditched the mop immediately and made a beeline to the kitchen to look for backup.As I related the garbled tale to Chef it began to dawn on me that I may well have recognised the vaguely familiar voice as belonging to one of our kitchen porters,Popmaster.
Popmaster was ten minutes late.
Popmaster is never late.
Ten further minutes passed with still no sign of the loo being vacated and I was getting tetchy,only half an hour till opening and I was now WELL behind schedule.
Just then Chef’s phone rang and he began pacing the kitchen,distractedly peering under the benches..
‘I can bring you a potato sack?’
Popmaster had called from the toilet cubicle asking for a spare pair of trousers.
JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH AND THE DONKEY THEY RODE ON....
In the absence of a ‘spare pair of trousers’ ever resourceful,Chef had suggested the next best thing.
A POTATO SACK.
There was a solemn brief two minute silence in the kitchen as we all gathered to watch Chef through the window as he entered the toilet block, handy spud sack in hand.
He reappeared immediately,eyes watering.
All was not well.
'I’ll have to give him an apron to wrap around himself- he’ll have to go home and get changed.’
Me,ever symapthetic:
‘You’re not getting one of my FOH aprons,can you not cut a couple of holes in the bottom of the sack for his legs?’
*Eye roll*
'Go upstairs and see if you can find him something..anything’ said Chef.
‘I know I’ll get him a towel-that’ll do’
I’m ashamed to admit that for some reason I was strangely drawn to the large blue Noddy towel that had been lying at the bottom of the airing cupboard since the fateful (never to be repeated) coach trip to the South of France when the kids were little and where tempers had frayed culminating in The Sensible One(in direct contravention of his name and reputation) standing up and planting an excellently placed left hook,one that Connor Macgregor would have been proud of, on the passenger in  the seat directly behind, in mitigation,after 5 hours relentless toe poking in the back.
I digress,anyway the beach towel had been shoved out of sight a sorry memory of times best forgotten.. I handed it to Chef with a wry smile,validating myself mentally that I hadn’t gone for the pink 'My Little Pony' option.
‘Tell him I don’t want it back’
A small audience briefly ceased working for the second time and peered again through the window with grim curiousity just as Popmaster appeared.
‘Thats quite an ironic site’ I said
‘How?’ said Chef‘
'Well considering the very person who asked me last week what had gone wrong in Lieutenant Tank's life to be 'waiting on at his age',is now climbing the back steps to the car park,Noddy towel kilt swaying in the breeze,clutching a large potato sack with unspeakably soiled undergarments contained therein..’
Sigh.

Wrap yourself in some Scottish Pride

‘That’s the last we’ll see of him’ I said as he disappeared from view,
‘Dont be ridiculous’ said Chef ‘he wont give  a shit’ (no pun intended)..
An hour later and well into the  rush there was still no sign of Popmaster and dishes were beginning to pile up.

Due to the trauma of the morning I was feeling slightly emotional(well more than usual) and sadly allowed the couple who  come in regularly for lunch and who complain bitterly EVERY visit without fail and have done for the last five years,to get to me.
Something snapped.
There was an unfortunate outburst,followed by tears(mine) only the second time in ten years a customer has managed to push me this far over the edge..

On my umpteenth circuit through the kitchen,with regular remonstrations to chef over the general unfairness of life,and with the sink beginning to look like a mini model of the Three Peaks challenge, suddenly a loud cheer went up as a freshly showered Popmaster reappeared.
‘Sorry I’m late,I had to hang around in the car for half an hour until the coast was clear’ 
With the window open,one hopes...
'Told you' said Chef,smirking.
Returning to the bar with a spring in my step,no need to lose a Front of House member to pot washing duties, I noticed a rather well dressed lady,the sort who would probably pop her hubsters sheepskin mules in the Aga for ten minutes ready for his return from the office at six, appear in the doorway,with two seniors in tow.I wouldn't say the elders were infirm, but judging by the speed of entry, I'd estimate they set off from the car park at 9am. 
I thought I'd better try and get them seated asap.
'Do we just sit anywhere?' said the more agile younger woman as she headed for the dining room,without waiting for a response.
I dashed over to impart the bad news.
"Im sorry the dining room is full today-but I can offer you a seat in our lovely bar area?'
I nodded encouragungly.
Now normally,the dining room is a hard sell,people want tables in the area where they can SEE the bar so this was a very unusual occurrence indeed.
'Oh no we want to sit in the dining room'
Herein lies another great unsolved mystery of the world of hospitality..
How can one sit at a table that already has OTHER people sitting at it??
Spell it out.
'Well I'm sorry as you can see the tables are all taken'
She was momentarly thrown,looking around for a better option.
I heard her comment irritatedly to the other two that it was a busy place and how they might go try and find somewhere else quieter.
Good luck with that one on a Bank Holiday..
The trek from the car park must have taken its toll however, so the three of them had a change of heart and decided to take on some liquid before pressing on.She indicated they would sit in the garden.
Phew.
I'd almost forgotten about them by the time the more agile woman reappeared at the bar to buy the drinks.At this rate they'd be eating dinner not lunch by the time they arrived at the next place.
And imagine if the chill wasn't taken off the slippers at six??
End of days.
As I passed her the drinks and requested payment I thought I detected a slight hesitation as she handed over the cash,I wondered briefly if she wanted me to bring the drinks out for her,something I'd normally offer on a quieter day but the queue at the bar was beginning to extend out through the door and you could almost cut the air of impatience with a knife.
I needed to get some of these people away from the bar quick smart.The most effective method is to smile as you hand over the change then immediately make eye contact with the next person in the queue before the current has a chance to waylay you further.
Its like a living full stop, a live punctuation mark is how I look at it.
It works every time,thankfully she took the cue.
Now normally I'm like Action Man Eagle Eyes when it comes to the customers, but the unfortunate upshot of this technique is that you don't fully register the next person in the queue until they are right in front of you,due to the blinkered eye contact.
So I was surprised to see the Hyacinth Bouquet woman back at the bar again so soon.
' I think youve made a mistake with my drinks bill'
God Almighty.
'Really?' 'What was the problem?'
'well I think you've overcharged me.£10.30 seems rather expensive to me.Well actually its not expensive,its quite cheap compared to London prices but when I come up North I dont expect to be paying those prices.'
I could remember her drinks but top of my head wasnt exactly sure of the prices so had to manually look them up on the till,meanwhile the queue was reforming and all my hard work over the last ten minutes was defunct.
I could sense the outrage and was a bit worried the gentleman (I use this term in the loosest possible sense) next in the queue might not be responsible for his own actions before long.
Of course the bill was correct and bloody bargainous at that price for one Estrella,a gin & tonic and Fentimans Ginger beer.
I beamed in a self satisfied Sybil Fawlty manner and asked politely if she would like a copy of the receipt.
The gentleman next in the queue was by now visibly disgruntled and impatient for the bill for his food,I grabbed it from the check board and had just about got it all on the till when I was flummoxed to see an item which i couldn't quite make out on the order.It looked very like USP and desperately trying to decide what our USP was, I frantically went through the menu mentally scanning for a possible match.In desperation and in the absence of the culprit who took the order whom I'd just seen taking food outside,I made an executive decision and decided to leave the item off the bill.
Collateral damage,if you will.
Much later when things had quietened off and the bill omission came back to mind I pulled up the Loose Cannon to enquire politely what USP might be.
'Ah' 
Small pause for a very self impressed grin.
'That's USA'
'And?'
'USA.....its an Americano.......thats what *I* call it'
Reader, he was visibly swaggering in a worryingly Accidental Partridge manner like he'd just solved the Times crossword clue that nobody else could get. 
I looked him unfalteringly straight in the eye without so much a glimmer of amusement.
'Not here you fucking don't'

My next kitchen circuit gave further cause for concern.Heart sinking I observed Popmaster,fists clenched,eyes screwed up with obvious strain. ‘Oh no.. not again..’
‘It’s ok’ said Chef cheerily ‘he’s only trying to remember who sang *'Looking through Gary Gilmore’s eyes’
The fact that our KP’s knowledge may have extended to a forty year old song about a mass murderer by a one hit wonder punk band, on reflection turned out ot be the least surprising event of the day....

*Its The Adverts in case you're wondering..